


Sleep

by TrueIllusion



Series: Familiarity [11]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Physical Disability, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16735017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: Michael had no idea what he’d find when he got to that hotel room. He’d hung up the phone with shaking hands, pulled on a t-shirt, kissed Ben goodbye, and headed out the door. He broke about a million traffic laws on his way downtown, but he didn’t care -- this was an emergency.





	Sleep

_“If I could sleep forever… I could forget about everything.”_

\- “Sleep,” The Dandy Warhols

*****

Michael had no idea what he’d find when he got to that hotel room. He’d hung up the phone with shaking hands, pulled on a t-shirt, kissed Ben goodbye, and headed out the door. He broke about a million traffic laws on his way downtown, but he didn’t care -- this was an emergency. Brian needed him. He didn’t know what condition his best friend was in, but he knew it hadn’t sounded good. It hadn’t sounded like Brian, to be honest, which made it even more frightening.

And what was it even about? Last he’d heard, it sounded like things were getting better where Justin was concerned, so he didn’t understand what would have driven Brian to do something that would get him into such a state.

Michael was thankful that he still had the extra keycard to Brian’s hotel room after he’d used it to drop off some clothes a couple of days before, so he wouldn’t have to involve anyone from the hotel in getting him into the room, particularly if Brian couldn’t get to the door. The whole way over to the hotel, Michael’s mind was running through various scenarios for what Brian might have done that had him crying and saying he’d fucked up. Brian didn’t cry easily -- he generally wasn’t very emotional at all -- so whatever this was, it was bad.

Had he brought a trick back to his hotel room? Michael didn’t even know how that would work, but he guessed it could probably be done. Although it didn’t seem like something Brian would do anymore. The Brian Kinney of his 20s and early 30s, sure, but now? It didn’t sound like Brian now. Not at all.

Had he tried to kill himself? God, Michael hoped not. Brian had said he wasn’t hurt, so Michael hoped he was telling the truth and he wasn’t going to walk into that room and find Brian bleeding or worse. Besides, why would he do that? That didn’t make any sense either.

None of this was making any sense. But what was anymore, really?

All Michael could think of as he’d gotten ready to hang up the phone was that it sounded like Brian could use some encouraging words, so Michael told him that he loved him and that he was going to be okay. He just needed to hang on. And that applied to so much more than just what was happening in that very moment -- it extended to what was happening in Brian’s life in general. He would be okay; he just had to get through it. And Michael knew he would. Brian Kinney was still the strongest person Michael Novotny knew, and had been for more than 30 years. Brian not being okay was not an option.

Michael parked the car and walked into the hotel as quickly as he could. He wanted to run, but he figured that would probably raise all sorts of alarm bells for the hotel staff, so a brisk walk it was. The elevator took fucking forever to reach the fourth floor, where Brian’s room was. Thankfully Michael didn’t have to go far after that, because Brian’s room was right outside the little alcove where the elevator bank was. He unlocked the door, took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

He saw Brian on the floor -- either asleep or passed out, Michael wasn’t sure which. The TV was on, but the sound was muted for some reason. Most of the bedding had been pulled off the bed, and part of it was wrapped around Brian. Brian’s phone was on the floor by his head, and there was a bottle of Jim Beam on its side not far away. Michael could smell the alcohol from the doorway. He also thought he smelled urine. It looked like Brian had vomited on the floor. His wheelchair was sitting at an odd angle, too far away from the bed. Michael guessed Brian had fallen, and apparently he couldn’t get up. It also appeared he was likely drunk off his ass, if the strong smell of alcohol and Brian’s current unconscious state were any indication. It was not a scene that Michael Novotny ever thought he’d see Brian Kinney in. He’d seen him drunk plenty of times, but never like this.

Michael entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him, then took a couple of steps toward Brian and knelt down on the floor next to his friend. He gently laid a hand on Brian’s shoulder, hoping not to startle him.

“Brian?” he said softly.

Brian moaned and stirred a little bit, but didn’t open his eyes.

“It’s me,” Michael continued, hoping if he kept talking, he might bring Brian back to consciousness. “You’re alright. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Brian blinked his eyes open and turned his head to face Michael. God, he looked awful. His eyes were red and swollen, and Michael didn’t think he’d seen them look that empty since...well...since that night fifteen years ago in the hospital hallway. Michael nearly had to look away.

“What happened?” Michael asked, keeping his voice low.

“Got drunk,” Brian mumbled. “Long story.”

“I can see that you got drunk… Why did you get drunk?”

“I told you, long story.”

Apparently Brian wasn’t going to tell him the story, at least not yet. Christ, all Michael wanted was for Brian to tell him what the fuck was going on. He was tired of being in the dark. He needed Brian to trust him. And he wasn’t sure why Brian didn’t seem to think he could trust him with this, whatever it was.

Brian’s eyes drifted closed again, and Michael took another look at his friend, trying to assess the situation. His legs were in an odd position, although it didn’t appear to be a dangerous one or like he might have hurt himself -- it looked more like Brian just hadn’t bothered to reposition them after he fell, and like maybe he’d dragged himself across the floor at an angle. His pants were wet, confirming that it likely was urine that Michael was smelling, through the alcohol and the vomit. Jesus. Michael couldn’t imagine Brian ever wanting to be seen like this, so he had to have been desperate to have called Michael. He’d obviously called because he needed help.

And Michael wasn’t even sure where to start when it came to helping Brian. Even with all the times he’d dragged Brian back to his loft, drunk off his ass or high as a kite, or let him into his own apartment to sleep it off in his bed, he’d never seen anything like this.

“Can you sit up?” He kept his voice quiet. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Brian took a couple of shaky breaths, then slowly started pushing himself up into a sitting position, propping himself up with his arms -- at first, on his hands, then slumping back to balance himself on his elbows instead.

Michael was still at a loss for what to do first.

“Do you want me to help you back into bed? Into your chair?” he asked.

“Chair,” Brian murmured. “Need to piss again. Need a shower... Need to change clothes…” He was slurring his words worse than Michael had ever heard him, which was a little scary given how many times he’d seen Brian very, very drunk.

“I don’t think the shower is a good idea right now,” Michael said. There was absolutely no way Brian would be able to do that without help, and he really didn’t think Brian would want him in there helping him. Even if it would probably help sober him up. Michael was wondering if he might need to take Brian to the hospital, especially since he didn’t know how much he’d had to drink.

Brian nodded and let his eyes close again. Michael moved around behind him so he could prop Brian’s body up on his and make it easier for him to sit up, while he tried to figure out how on earth he was going to get Brian -- who was six inches taller than him and was probably going to be around 180 pounds of dead weight at this point -- up off the ground and into his wheelchair.

It took several tries, but eventually they got it. Brian seemed to need a moment to catch his breath and get his bearings, during which time he sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, just breathing. Then, slowly, he sat up and started moving around, pulled a couple of things out of his suitcase and proceeded into the bathroom, where he stayed for several minutes. Minutes that felt like they took forever to Michael. He could hear noises that sounded like Brian was struggling with something -- probably trying to change clothes. The longer the struggle went on, the more Michael had to resist the urge to go in and help Brian. That wouldn’t be his place. He knew Brian needed his privacy and to try to preserve at least some of his dignity. And as much as Michael wanted to help make things easier, he knew he had to give Brian that. Maybe Ben was rubbing off on him after all.

Meanwhile, Michael tried to busy himself by putting the bed back together. Thankfully, it all appeared to be clean and dry.

Eventually, the struggle seemed to be over, and Michael heard the faucet turn on. Water ran for a couple of minutes before Brian came out, his hair a little wet around his face like he’d been splashing water on it. Probably in an effort to sober up a little. He did look slightly more alert when he came back into the room, although the image of Brian that was currently in front of Michael was still one that was more than a bit off, and also very, very tired.

Michael watched as Brian, now clad in sweatpants with no shirt, pulled his wheelchair up as close alongside the bed as he could get it, then basically dragged his body out of the chair and onto the bed -- not at all the usual quick, seemingly effortless maneuver he often executed to move from his chair to another surface. He pulled his legs slowly up onto the bed, one by one, then laid back onto the pillows and closed his eyes.

“You alright?” Michael asked, only because he really didn’t know what else to say, even though the question sounded completely stupid at this point, given what he’d already seen. Clearly, Brian was not alright. But would he tell Michael what was wrong now? That was the question.

“Can you take me to urgent care in the morning?” Brian’s voice was barely above a whisper, and he didn’t open his eyes.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go to the emergency room now?”

Brian shook his head but still didn’t open his eyes. “It’s not that.” He paused for a moment and took a breath, like he was trying to decide whether or not to elaborate. “I’ve got blood in my urine.” He said it so casually -- like it was nothing at all. No big deal.

“Then I think my question still stands. Are you sure we shouldn’t go now?”

“It’s not an emergency,” he mumbled.

“It sure as fuck sounds like one.” Michael was trying to keep control of himself, but he’d had enough of Brian downplaying things, and he’d be damned if he was going to sit here while Brian let something like that go, like it was nothing. Blood was not nothing. Blood was never nothing.

“Happens a few times a year.” Brian’s voice was getting quieter as he slipped toward unconsciousness. “It’s not a big deal. Just need some antibiotics.”

Clearly, Michael was missing some of this story, because Brian was leaving some things out in his still-inebriated state. But it was obvious that Brian was starting to drift off, so Michael wasn’t going to argue. He’d just let him sleep. He needed it. Especially if he was sick on top of everything else that was already going on.

Michael quietly cleaned up the room as best he could, although he knew it was likely that Brian’s credit card was going to take a hit for this one, because there would be no way of keeping this from the hotel staff. There was more that needed to be done than what he could do, and the room reeked of alcohol from where Brian had spilled most of the bottle of Beam when he’d apparently knocked it off the table. At least, Michael hoped it had been most of the bottle. He assumed if Brian had drank most of it, he would be even worse off than he was right now.

It was almost four in the morning, and Michael was beginning to crash from his own adrenaline rush after getting Brian’s phone call, so he settled into the chair in the corner of Brian’s room, kicked his shoes off, and put his feet up on the ottoman. He thought better of climbing in bed with Brian without him knowing it, even though he really wanted to comfort his friend. He’d looked so lost and lonely and scared, just like he had so many times when they were kids. But Ben was right -- they weren’t kids anymore. And that wasn’t Michael’s place anymore; it was Justin’s.

The only person who was going to be able to fix this for Brian was Justin.

Michael wondered what on earth had happened after Lindsay and Mel had left the hospital. Lindsay had happily reported that Justin was talking and Brian was smiling. So how did Brian get to this point? What happened in the middle to send Brian off on a drinking binge?

Michael hoped he’d be able to get a more sober Brian to tell him in the morning. In the meantime, he was tired, so he turned off the light and settled in to try to get a few more hours’ sleep.

Some time later, Michael was awakened by shouting.

“No no no no no no no...God!”

At first, Michael was confused about where he was. Why was he sleeping in a chair? Why wasn’t he in bed with Ben? Then he remembered where he was and why he was there, and simultaneously realized that the sounds were coming from Brian. Michael could see him clinging to a pillow in the shadowy light coming through the window as the shouts dissolved into quiet sobs.

“No… no… not him… not tonight…”

Not really knowing what to do, but also not wanting to see Brian scared or in pain, Michael got up from the chair and sat down on the bed, then carefully laid his hand on Brian’s arm that was clinging to the pillow. But instead of waking up, Brian seemed to incorporate Michael into his dream. He pushed Michael away -- hard.

“Get the fuck away from him, you homophobic asshole,” Brian growled.

Michael tried again -- he was now fairly sure he knew what this dream was about, and he knew he needed to somehow find a way to pull Brian out of the nightmare and back into reality. So he got closer to Brian again, put his hand back on Brian’s shoulder, and pressed a little harder this time, shaking his friend’s shoulder a little.

Only this time, Brian actually swung his arm and hit Michael hard enough to make him cry out in pain.

And that cry was what seemed to finally break Brian loose from the grips of the nightmare. Michael was rubbing his upper arm, where he was sure he was going to have a bruise, when Brian opened his eyes and started looking around, at first seeming just as confused as Michael had been when Brian woke him up, then slowly seeming to realize where he was and what had happened.

“Shit,” Brian said. “I hit you, didn’t I? Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was my fault. I startled you, and I shouldn’t have.”

Brian turned his head and buried his face in the pillow.

“Was this what you were dreaming about when you woke up screaming at Ma’s house? Were you dreaming about the night Justin was bashed?” Michael said quietly. He was starting to put the pieces together. He wondered how long this had been going on. He knew that what had happened at Justin’s prom had affected Brian much more deeply than anyone else seemed to realize at the time -- or ever, really -- but Brian had seemed okay for such a long time. Were these violent nightmares being brought on by Justin’s accident, and the overwhelming sense of deja vu that seemed ever-present lately? They’d all lived all of these moments before, and were trapped once again, reliving the nightmare. Michael wanted it to end, and he was sure Brian and Justin did too.

Brian turned his head a little, so he was facing Michael again. “No,” he mumbled. “That one was different. They’re all different. And they’re all fucking awful.”

Fuck, Michael thought to himself. How many were there? How often was this happening? He started to ask that, but he didn’t have to.

“Every night,” Brian said, as if he’d read Michael’s mind. He still seemed very out-of-it, and was still slurring his words a little, either from sleep or from the alcohol. “Every damn night.”

No wonder Brian was so exhausted. Michael had a feeling that the alcohol was the only reason Brian was being this forthcoming about the dreams, but he was glad that he was finally getting the full picture of what was going on with his friend. But even with that information, Michael still wasn’t sure what to do. How to help. All he could do was think to himself what he would want if he was waking up from horrible nightmares every night. He’d want to have someone there with him, so he’d know he was safe. That he wasn’t alone. He would want that from Ben, though, and he was sure that Brian wanted it from Justin. Only he couldn’t have that right now. All Michael could do was reassure him, and hope that it helped.

“Well, I’m here,” Michael said. “You’re safe. You’re not alone. Go back to sleep, okay?”

Brian nodded and closed his eyes again. It only took a few minutes for his breathing to even out. Once Michael was sure Brian was asleep, he carefully moved off the bed and back to the chair so he could try to get a little more sleep himself. Hopefully, the nightmares were over for the night. But even if they weren’t, he was there. Hopefully that was enough.

The next time Michael was awakened, it was by a groan coming from the bed in front of him. Sunlight was streaming in the window, across his face and Brian’s. Michael blinked his eyes open just as Brian was turning his face into the pillow again.

“Fuck,” Brian moaned. “I think this might be the worst hangover I’ve ever had in my life.”

“How much did you drink?”

“I don’t even know,” Brian said, sighing as he pushed his palms into the mattress and rolled over onto his back. “I think I spilled most of it when I knocked it off the table, but I was too drunk to care.”

“How much do you remember of last night?”

“Enough. Maybe more than I’d like to.”

Michael was fairly sure he knew exactly what Brian meant there. Perhaps some memories of the previous night would have been best forgotten, or at the very least, not witnessed by someone else. “I’m glad you called,” he said. “None of that is going to leave this room. I promise.” He’d have to tell Ben something, but he could leave out the most embarrassing details. Those would stay between him and Brian, just like they always had.

Brian nodded and held Michael’s gaze for a moment in what Michael knew was a silent “thank you.” He knew those words didn’t come easily to Brian, much like how it still wasn’t easy for him to say that he loved someone. And it was for the same reason -- because he didn’t feel worthy. He’d come a long way over the years -- the decades -- but the hesitation still lingered, and would probably never be fully gone. It was too entrenched. Beaten into Brian by his parents during his formative years.

“Well,” Brian said suddenly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “Guess I’d better start getting ready, so we can see if I can undo some of what I’ve already done to myself.”

“You don’t know if you’ve done it to yourself. Maybe it would have happened anyway, and it just has piss-poor timing.”

“Nice choice of words, Mikey,” Brian said sarcastically. He pushed his legs off the edge of the bed, then slid his body into his wheelchair, slightly more gracefully than he had several hours prior.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“This is what happens when I don’t drink enough water, and when I try to pretend that I don’t have a bladder that doesn’t work right anymore.” Brian shrugged as he shifted things around in his suitcase until he had a full set of clothing in his lap. “It does some weird shit sometimes. It’s real fun. Trust me, I did this to myself. But it is what it is. I just need to go get it taken care of.”

An hour later, Michael was sitting in a waiting room, listening to people hack and cough and hoping he wasn’t going to pick up some kind of superbug just sitting there. Brian had only been back there a few minutes, but Michael was praying it wouldn’t be much longer. The last thing he wanted to do was bring home some mutant virus to his HIV-positive husband.

Brian had seemed anxious in the car -- Michael guessed that he really just wanted to get this taken care of so he could move on to more important things, like Justin. He could only imagine how frustrating it must be to have a medical condition getting in your way all the time, whether it was a physical disability like Brian had, or HIV like Ben had. Brian was also a little bit grouchy, which was understandable, so Michael didn’t say anything about it when Brian grumbled at him or said things he probably didn’t mean.

Michael put in a quick phone call to Ben, just to let him know that he’d probably be gone the rest of the day helping Brian, but that it looked like he was going to be alright. He still needed to come up with something else to tell Ben later to explain the late night phone call that had sent him into a panic and had Ben deeply concerned as well, since he intended to keep his word to Brian that the details would stay between them.

Just after he hung up with Ben, Michael heard what was clearly Brian’s voice on the other side of the wall.

“I told you, all of my doctors are in fucking New York! If I could go see my regular urologist, I would! But I can’t, so I’m coming to you. I just need some antibiotics. Surely you can handle that!”

And a few seconds after that...

“Fuck past records! I’ll tell you whatever you fucking need to know! Just ask me! Last I checked, I’m quite familiar with my body! You’ve got the goddamn expert right in front of you! Jesus Christ, didn’t you people take some kind of oath? To help people and shit? Not do harm? If you don’t give me what I need, I’m pretty damn sure you’re going to be doing harm.”

After that, Michael couldn’t discern anything else being said. And a few minutes later, Brian emerged with a small sheet of paper in between his fingers as he pushed his wheelchair through the doorway. The nurse holding the door open looked relieved that this particular patient was leaving.

“Christ,” Brian grumbled as he went past Michael and headed straight for the door. “Can’t anybody just do their damn job?”

Michael stood up and followed behind Brian, just glad that Brian had apparently gotten what he needed, and that he was going to be getting out of that waiting room, which seemed to be quickly becoming a makeshift tuberculosis ward. He really hoped he wasn’t going to end up getting sick, and made a note to himself to take lots of extra vitamins when he got home.

They drove to a pharmacy Michael had seen on the way over to urgent care, where Brian turned in the prescription and the two of them sat in silence, waiting for what seemed like an unusually long time, given that there were only a couple of other people there.

During that time, Michael had a lot of time to observe Brian, who seemed to be a combination of agitated and absolutely exhausted. He spent most of the time leaning over, with his elbows resting on his knees, alternating between propping his head up in his hands and rubbing his temples. Michael was sure Brian must have had one hell of a headache after consuming all of that whiskey, in addition to whatever other symptoms he was experiencing because he was just plain sick. In that moment, Michael wished there was more he could do -- that there was some way he could fix this. But again, he had to sit with the fact that he couldn’t fix it. All he could do was be there for Brian.

And that was what he was doing, but he also had to wonder whether or not Brian was making the right decisions for himself. He knew that was a stupid thing to be questioning, given that they were both adults, but it was becoming painfully obvious that Brian was taking selflessness to a somewhat dangerous level here. Yes, Justin needed Brian to be there for him, but Brian also needed to take care of himself. And Justin needed that too.

Brian needed to go back to bed and try to rest so he could at least start toward getting back to 100%, but how on earth was Michael going to tell him that? How much risk would he be taking if he tried? How much was he willing to take?

As they left the pharmacy, Michael decided he was willing to take the risk. That Brian taking care of himself was more important than Brian being upset with him. He’d deal with that. He couldn’t deal with continuing to watch Brian self destruct. So at the next intersection, he turned right -- back toward the hotel -- instead of making the left turn that would have taken them toward the hospital.

“Where are we going? Why aren’t you taking me to the hospital? I asked to go to the hospital.”

“Brian, you're sick. You need to rest.” Michael tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to steel his resolve along with it.

“What are you, my goddamn mother?”

“No, just someone who cares about you and doesn't want to see you destroy yourself.”

“I need to go to the hospital,” Brian said through clenched teeth.

“You need to take a nap first. I’ll stay there with you--”

“You’re not fucking telling me what to do, Michael!” Brian cut Michael off. His voice was rising, quickly. “I’m not a fucking toddler who needs to be told to take a nap! And I definitely don’t need a babysitter!”

“Brian, you’re exhausted. And you’re sick, maybe even because of it. You have got to get some sleep. It’s not negotiable. You can’t function without it.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what’s best for me?!” Brian shouted. “If you won’t take me to the hospital, then stop the goddamn car and I’ll get out and I’ll call a cab, but I’m getting there one way or another!”

“No, you’re not getting out and calling a cab. All I’m asking you to do is try to get a few hours of sleep, then we will go to the hospital if you’re feeling up to it.” Michael was trying really hard to keep his voice calm, even though Brian was practically screaming at him in the passenger seat. Michael knew he was sticking his neck out here, but he also knew that sometimes the only way to get Brian to do something that he needed to do and didn’t want to do was to leave him no choice. Michael was the one in control here, since he was driving the car, and he knew he was taking advantage of it, but he hoped that Brian might eventually see that he was only trying to help.

“Stop the fucking car, Michael!” Brian roared, reaching out and pounding his fist on the dash. “Stop the fucking car!” Brian’s voice had started to break, and although he was still hitting the dash, he wasn’t hitting it as hard as he had been at first.

“Brian, what is going on with you? Do you hear yourself right now?” Michael was becoming alarmed at his friend’s reaction to a simple request that he take a nap and address the fact that he was physically ill, and then reevaluate before spending the entire day at the hospital again. But he tried not to let that show through. There was clearly something else going on with Brian at the moment -- much more than met the eye -- and it was now much worse than it had been on Christmas Eve. “Why are you outright refusing to take care of yourself? Justin would want you to take care of yourself. All I’m asking you to do is take a couple of hours to rest, and then let’s see how you feel, okay?”

The entire time Michael had been speaking, Brian had his head down and one hand still on the dash, taking uneven, very audible breaths. As soon Michael he was done speaking, the breaths dissolved into silent sobs. Brian’s hand slid down off the dash and into his lap as he folded in on himself. Michael immediately started looking for a parking lot he could pull over into. He didn’t know what this was or what Brian needed, but it was obvious that he needed something. Michael was feeling far out of his element here. He had no idea what was happening -- all he knew was that it was scary as shit, and he was pretty sure Brian was having some kind of a breakdown.

“Because if I’m not there, he might forget about me,” Brian said, his voice suddenly small and soft as he spoke through the tears.

“What? Brian, what are you talking about?” Michael was relieved to find an open parking space on the next block, and he pulled over into it. “Why would Justin forget about you? You’re his husband.”

“Not as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t even remember that we’re married. I don’t even know if he still remembers he loves me.”

Instantly, Michael knew exactly what had Brian so upset the night before. God, it would have killed him if Ben didn’t remember they were married. If suddenly their past history was gone. And it had done the same to his best friend -- the man who’d spat in the face of marriage for so many years, who had finally found the courage to commit his life to one person forever. Now, that commitment hung in the balance. No wonder Brian had practically lost his mind. Michael was sure he would have too.

“Brian, look at me.” Michael paused and waited several seconds until Brian raised his gaze to meet his. “Justin has never not loved you. Even when you weren't together, he loved you. And you loved him. We could all see it. It’s just… it’s the way it is. The way it should be. You love him and he loves you. Why would he stop now?”

“It's different now.”

“How is it different? Even if he doesn't remember now, I'm sure he will. He's recovering from a brain injury, but he's still the same person. A person who has loved you since he was 17 and never stopped. He isn't going to forget you. He would want you to take care of yourself. Because he loves you.”

Michael watched as Brian breathed in and then out, like he was trying to get ahold of himself and his emotions. Michael had never seen Brian like this, even with as much as he and Brian had shared growing up that Brian never shared with anyone else. And he had to admit, it was a little bit frightening to see the man who was almost always completely in-control, suddenly lose that control.

“Brian…” Michael began, then stopped, not quite sure if he should say what he was about to. If it was his place. He’d already offered to help Brian in any way he could, but maybe it was time to be more direct. “I think maybe you need to talk to someone.”

“I know,” Brian said, so quietly that Michael could barely hear it. He sat up and leaned back into the seat, leaving his eyes closed.

That certainly wasn’t the reaction Michael had anticipated. He’d expected Brian to argue with him, to once again say he’d be alright. But he hadn’t.

“Okay,” Michael said. “Good. Do you have someone you can talk to?”

Brian nodded and pulled his lips into his mouth. “I think so,” he said. “She’s in New York, but...maybe we could talk on the phone.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Michael laid his hand over Brian’s, which was now resting on Brian’s thigh. “Like I said the other night, we all just want you to be okay. I want you to be okay. And I’ll help you get whatever you need to be okay.”

“I’m so tired, Mikey.”

“I know. I know you are.” Probably in more ways that one, Michael added, silently to himself. “So why don’t you try to lie down for a while, then maybe we can go to the hospital later, when you’re feeling a little better.”

“Okay,” Brian whispered. “Okay. Probably best not to go looking like this anyhow.”

“Probably not,” Michael smiled a little. Leave it to Brian to be cracking some sort of sarcastic joke right after having some kind of an emotional breakdown. “You alright now?”

Brian looked out the window and ran his hand over his mouth. “I will be,” he said quietly.

And that was a start.

Michael put the car back in gear and drove the rest of the way to the hotel. Brian was quiet in the passenger seat, chewing his thumbnail and continuing to look out the window.

The first place Brian went when they got back upstairs was the bathroom, and Michael took the opportunity to order some food he thought Brian might eat and something for himself, and then make a phone call to Jennifer to tell her Brian wasn’t feeling well and he might not be coming to the hospital today.

Jennifer was concerned, as any mother would be, but she didn’t seem surprised. She’d been spending a lot of time with Brian, so Michael was sure that she probably had known as well as he had that something was brewing and it wasn’t good.

Michael wasn’t sure if he should mention it, but he ended up telling Jennifer what Brian had said in the car -- that he was afraid Justin was going to forget him. That he was afraid Justin didn’t love him anymore.

Jennifer was just as surprised as he had been to hear that. Actually, even more so, because she said Brian was the only thing Justin had talked about all morning. And that although there were still plenty of pieces missing, Justin was starting to put them together as best he could.

Mostly, it was clear that Justin still loved Brian. That Brian had nothing to worry about.

The food arrived just as Brian was emerging from the bathroom. He’d changed back into his sweats and looked ready for bed, but he did sit with Michael at the small table in his hotel room and eat something. It was progress, at least. Michael would take that.

Just as Brian was getting situated in the bed, Michael’s phone rang. It was Jennifer. Justin was awake, and he wanted to talk to Brian.

Michael handed the phone over to his friend. “It’s Justin,” he said.

Brian looked confused and apprehensive, but he took the phone from Michael and held it to his ear. And it didn’t take long for relief to spread across Brian’s features, and seemingly through his entire body.

Brian wasn’t saying much other than, “I know,” and “Okay,” but Michael watched as his friend’s face and spirit continued to lift. The difference was palpable.

There were tears in Brian’s eyes as he said, “Me too, Sunshine. Me too. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and then hung up the phone.

He laid the phone down on the bed and leaned back into the pillows.

“He remembers,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.


End file.
